


I dissolve and break and then away I crawl

by lumineres (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Little Red Riding Hood, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Angst, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Normal Life, Not rly tho, Sad, Sad Harry, Sexual Content, i lterally do not know what to tag, larry stylinson - Freeform, street performer au, wtf is a foot job holy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:58:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lumineres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry runs away from the things that make him happy.</p>
<p> <i> He doesn't want to think about Louis waking up the next morning, and searching for him everywhere. That's not something he wants to wonder about, he doesn't want to know if Louis cried or called their friends. Doesn't want to know if Louis waited for him and for how long before he gave up.</i></p>
<p>
  <i>Seven months is a rather long time. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I dissolve and break and then away I crawl

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for a couple weeks now, this is by far my longest one shot I will probably ever write. This is my pride and joy. This is my baby. I've thought about this fic constantly for like 14 days. I really only planned on this being like 4k words.  
> Title from Your Love Means Everything by Coldplay
> 
>  
> 
> AU in which louis is some messed up version of Little Red Riding hood, and Harry is some messed up version if the big bad wolf. Just. Less, you know, wolfy.
> 
> Okay, maybe this has only the slightest slightest resemblance to LRRH but just give me a small victory, alright? 
> 
> And somewhere along the way it turns into Hello, I'm in Delaware by City and Colour. And so maybe to justify the LRRH similarities I had to break the fourth wall of this fic. But. Well. Oops.
> 
> I tried to stay on track, I really did.
> 
> It's kind of just a fic

 

 

This was 50 shades of wrong, and Harry knew it. Peering through the trees watching a boy walk through the woods is a lot of kinds of fucked up. Though the boy was beautiful enough to excuse a few of the misdemeanors. The sun filtering through the multicolored leaves fell in patterns on the boys tanned skin (seriously though its November why is he so tan) and even from his distance, Harry can see the blue of his eyes. He's humming a little tune, and its quite the nice sound. 

But, right, watching boys creepily through foliage is wrong. Wrong. Bad, Harry, bad.

He turns away, albeit reluctantly, and resumes picking blueberries from the wild blueberry bush he'd found. Probably would be a good idea to confirm their blueberry-ism, but. Well. Blue berries are berries that are blue and berries that are blue are blueberries and that's that.

A twig snaps from behind him, just as he's all but forgotten the boy (that's the largest lie Harry's ever told himself.) It startles him and his basket (oh _god_ an actual woven _basket_ Harry what kind of of man _are_ you?) slips from his fingers and spills onto the forest floor.

"Fuck!" Harry curses, picking up the basket and the astonishing grand total of _fucking three_ blueberries left in it. 

"I'm sorry!" A voice says, sounding genuinely remorseful, and suddenly a pair of small, tan hands are reaching for the bush and pulling off as many berries as they can. Harry looks up to see the boy he'd been watching- in all his gold and blue glory, and the red of his shirt making a wonderful contrast with his gilded skin. His face looks stricken, like someone had just died rather than dropped a half a basket of blueberries.

Harry knows he's meant to tell him it's alright, but he doesn't manage much other than a small, nearly whimpered, "Hi." 

The boy is shaking his head, his light brown hair fluffing about the crown of his head, and muttering to himself about how much of a _twat he is_ and _yeah so the guy's ass was nice you don't have to scare the shit outta him god Louis how stupid are you?_ And he doesn't seem to hear Harry's soft greeting. Harry wonders if _he_ even heard it, if he actually said it at all.

"Oops." The boy, Louis, finally says turning to Harry and putting another two handfuls of blueberries in the basket. His fingers are stained slightly purple, and one blueberry was squished into his ring finger, and he flicks his tongue out to catch the mangled berry from falling. Harry tries not to follow every movement of Louis' mouth because _right._ Creepy. 

"It's alright." He manages. Louis is exquisite. Really, beautiful. Ethereal. Recherché. Enamoring. And other adjectives Harry learned in his English classes and has never had a reason to use until now. He doesn't know anything about the boy, but he does know that's he'd quite like to trail small kisses down Louis' prominent jaw line and look at his eyelashes in early morning light as they flutter on his cheek bones and- _creepy_. 

"I'm Louis." The boy says, not shying away from Harry's probing gaze in the slightest, he seems to be welcoming it, each movement he makes seems as if it was carefully planned to knock the air from Harry's lungs.

"Harry." Harry says, barely managing the two syllables.

"Harry." Louis repeats, and Harry's heart flutters, dangerously close to leaping from his mouth in a suicide mission- _anything_ had to be less painful than looking at Louis, who was just so already _consuming_ Harry's thoughts. It's like Louis is an expensive art exhibit- a lost Michelangelo sculpture perhaps, what with that bone structure- and Harry can look all he wants, but do not touch. How is it that he's so completely and entirely taken with Louis, after only speaking four words to him? 

"I like it." Louis beams, and without asking, reaches a hand into the basket Harry is still holding (he can't really feel his fingers) and taking a few berries and popping them into his mouth. Harry scrambled to remember what exactly it is that Louis likes. His name, Louis likes his name. The realization sends a strange trill of happiness through him. Louis continues to pick out blueberries and plop them on his tongue. 

If those berries turned out to actually be poisonous, would Harry be charged with murder?

He eats a few himself, so if they are he won't be around to find out how a court would go about that. 

"Thanks." Harry mumbles, watching Louis' thin lips gradually tint purple as he eats most of the berries he just helped collect.

"'m 'pposed ta be picking berries for my mum's pie." Louis informs him around a mouthful of the berries. 

"We'll at this rate it's gonna be a very small pie." Harry says, chewing on a few berries of his own. Louis swallows and grins with stained teeth, "I know. It's so great. But really, she should have known I don't have any sort of self control."

Harry lets out a small laugh and sits down, leaning against a boulder. Louis sits next to him and Harry puts the basket between them.

"Really though. Blueberries and boys with teeny weeny bums are my weaknesses. Boys with teeny weeny bums collecting blueberries make me _incredibly_ unwillpowered." 

Harry ignores the flirtation, though his cheeks feel warm and he's sure he's flushing, "I don't believe that's actually a word." 

"Damn, I rather liked it." Louis laments, smiling though, popping another blueberry onto his tongue.

Soon the basket is, yet again, down to three blueberries. Harry feels like he could vomit bluer than the ocean. Louis is groaning and laughing too, but, Harry is admittedly competitive, and positively _has_ to have the last blueberry. So he takes one, and there's two left. He chews it slowly, dreading the moment he has to push it down his esophagus. Louis takes one, understanding Harry's game, and chews and swallows slowly. Harry's hand hovers over the lip of the basket, and Louis' does the same. Louis fakes it, making a motion toward the last one, and Harry twitches in response. He's grinning like an idiot to an absolute stranger, but that's okay with him because hopefully he won't be considered a stranger forever. After another minute of playing, Harry makes a move for it, just a millisecond after Louis does. Louis' tan fingers wrap around the blueberry, and Harry's long ones wrap over Louis'. 

Louis jolts, and Harry's spine curves a little, as if pushing him involuntarily toward the boy. His very bones ache to know this boy, to know him mentally and physically and emotionally and know his deepest secrets and desires and childhood memories as if they were his own. Harry never really was a believer in love at first sight. Always thought you had to get to know a person before you could love them, but he realizes now that love at first sight is just the undeniable need to know them.

And, right, his fingers are still holding Louis'.

"Sorry." Harry mumbles, pulling his hand away. Louis' face stays serious for a moment, before breaking into a grin and making a show of placing the blueberry on his tongue. Harry has only a few inhibitions about taking the blueberry from Louis' outstretched tongue with his own, but he listens to them and sulks as Louis chews and swallows.

"So," Harry draws out the word, "is my bum really that teeny?" 

"Teensiest I've seen all day." Louis replies with a sideward grin. 

"Should I be insulted?" Harry asks, smirking a little.

"Not at all. Everyone's bum seems small to me, in comparison." Louis laughs.

"Really, I hadn't noticed." Harry lies. He'd _noticed_. How could he not? Louis laughs again, and it reminds Harry of- well actually he doesn't know. Just something wonderful.

"So much for that pie." Louis says, looking down at the empty basket and nearly stripped bush. 

"Yeah." Harry says, incapable of a better response.

There's a beat of silence.

"Wanna play a game?" Louis asks suddenly.

"Sure, what kind of game?" Harry asks, brushing an ant off his shoe. 

"Just, like, twenty questions I guess. Yes or no answers only. I'll ask you first, and once my questions are up you can ask." Louis explains. Harry shrugs and motions for Louis to start.

"Are you under 23 years old but above 18?"

"Yes."

"Are you 21?"

"No."

"22?"

"No.

"20?"

"No."

"Oh c'mon there's no way in hell you're 19!" Louis says, and Harry shrugs and grins, "Well I am." 

"Anyway, do you have a girlfriend?"

"Nope."

There's a pause before the next question, "Boyfriend?"

"Broke up six months ago." Harry says, a tug on his heart, but a smile spreads on Louis' face.

"Well then, have you ever received a blowjob in the middle of the woods from a near stranger?" 

"No." Harry's stomach tightens and his breath has just noticeably hitched.

"Would you like to?"

"Yeah." The word comes out as a breath, and then cuts off because Louis is already kissing him. First, Harry's too shocked to do much but move his lips with Louis', but then his hands flutter into motion. One rests on the small of Louis' back, just above the swell of his bum in his sinfully _tight_ black jeans. The other plays in his soft, fine hair, pulling just slightly on occasion. 

Harry opens his mouth in the kiss, and Louis doesn't hesitate to slip his tongue between Harry's lips. One of Louis' hands is supporting him, while the other is trailing down Harry's torso. 

Harry moves his hands so they're both on Louis' waist, and then he lifts the smaller boy so he's straddling Harry. Harry disconnects his lips from Louis' and trails kisses down his jaw line, like he'd wanted to earlier. It's better than he'd imagined. 

Harry suckles a spot on Louis' neck and Louis lets out a low groan.

"Sweet spot." Louis tells him, breath coming out in little pants. Harry only smiles slightly against his skin, continuing the action until he's sure there's a bruise there. Louis' hips grind slowly down onto Harry's.

Harry detaches his lips from Louis' throat and runs a thumb over the discoloration there. Louis shudders above him, and Harry looks up at him. 

It's a beautiful sight. Louis' pupils are largely dilated, leaving only a ring of sky blue around the black. His lips are parted, red and swollen, and Harry decides that once he's done marveling he'll kiss them again. Louis' cheeks are flushed and his hair is mussed up from Harry's hand. His hips are still gyrating on Harry, and he can feel how hard Louis is through his pants. Harry's about equal, in that respect. 

Harry cranes his neck to capture Louis' lips with his again, and Louis bends down so he can. 

Harry moves his hands, which were still on Louis' waist, so one is cupping his bum and the other winds itself in Louis' hair again. Louis lets out a breathy moan when Harry squeezes his ass. He starts to kiss down Harry's neck while he unbuttons and unzips Harry's jeans. Louis moves so he's level with Harry's boxers. Louis pulls them down just enough to free Harry's erection.

"Shit." Louis says quietly.

"What?" Harry asks, though inwardly he's just begging _pleading_ with Louis to just please _touch_ him.

"You're so fucking hot." Louis says, but Harry doesn't get a chance to reply, because Louis licks a flat stripe up the underside of Harry's length, and all breath dies in Harry's throat. Louis starts at the base again, zig zagging the tip of his tongue over the prominent vein, flitting around and not giving substantial enough contact. Harry shudders, "Please, Lou, please don't tease." 

Harry looks down at Louis, who looks up at him just as he fits his mouth around Harry's head. The sight is- its something. Harry's not feeling very articulate at the moment. His vocabulary mainly consists of "Louis", "fuck", and "beautiful."

"Louis you're so fucking beautiful." He gasps, and briefly winders if that was a weird thing to say while receiving head in the middle of the forest from a near stranger. But. Well. He is beautiful, fucking breathtaking, really.

Louis bobs his head, taking more of Harry into his mouth. _Fuck_. Harry thinks, toes curling and uncurling in his shoes. He fists his hands in Louis' hair again, tugging slightly and loving the sounds Louis is making.

Louis wraps a hand around Harry and starts pumping in rhythm to the movement of his head.

"Fuck, Louis." Harry gasps, his hips involuntarily bucking up. Louis presses his hands to Harry's hips to keep them still, but then he swallows around Harry and _holy shit_ he's fucking deepthroating him holy _shit_. 

Harry squeezes his eyes shut as Louis continues. Harry can feel his tongue curling around him and his throat constricting and it's all too much.

"Louis, Louis stop." He groans, stomach tightening. Louis pulls off and wraps both his hands around Harry, pumping quickly. Harry lets out a shout of sorts and his back arches off the forest floor as he comes on Louis fingers. The back of his eyelids explodes in sparks and he grips at Louis' biceps for dear life. He collapses back to the ground, breathing hard. His heart pounds so hard he's pretty sure Louis can hear it.

After a minute, Harry realizes he should return the favor, but Louis' breathing is as labored as his own and he guesses that he doesn't have to.

"I have some blueberries at my house." Harry says through lackadaisical breaths, "and all the ingredients for a pie if you want to make it for your mum." Really, Harry just wants Louis at his house. Sounds a little creepy, but, Harry's decided to embrace his natural creepy tendencies.

"Who just has pie ingredients lying around?" Louis asks, his voice hoarse.

"Me. I have some water, too, you sound like you need it."

"Now that is horribly abnormal. _Water_ at your _house_? I can't go. That is just too strange." Louis jokes, and then attempts to clear his throat. "Next you're going to tell me you have a _toilet_ or a _roof_." 

"Never!" Harry pretends to be insulted, "such monstrosities would never be allowed in my humble abode." 

This sends Louis into a fit of giggles which then sends Harry's heart into a flurry of flutters and his stomach into a swirl of spins and other alliterative phrases. 

"Humble abode." Louis mocks, lowering his voice and giggling again. Then he stands, "Shall we, then?" He holds out a hand to Harry, who is still embarrassingly sprawled out on the ground, (though, thank god at some point he'd pulled up his pants) he hadn't bothered moving.

Harry takes his hand and hoists up. 

"Which way is your place?" Louis asks. Harry points, "Through town a bit." 

Louis nods and they start walking.

"You know you still have 12 questions left." Harry says, looking at the shorter boy at his side. There's bits of leaves stuck to the back of his red shirt.

"That I do. I'll ask them as I think of them." Louis says, a thoughtful look taking his features. As much as Harry likes the thoughtful look, he'd much rather Louis be smiling or laughing. Harry racks his brain for jokes or something, but his sense of humor has always been ridiculed and he wonders if he should even bother.

"Hey." He says, deciding bothering is better than not bothering.

"Hm?"

"Why couldn't the flower ride his bike?" Harry questions. Louis gives him a sideward glance and the corners of his lips quirk up.

"Well?" Harry presses, when Louis doesn't say anything.

"I don't know, why?" Louis asks, humor dancing in his blue eyes. They are rather blue. Harry thinks his favorite color might have just changed.

"Because his petals fell off." Harry says, trying to keep a straight face. This one kills him, and as hard as he tries a giggle bursts from his lips.

"You _actually_ find that funny?" Louis asks, laughter riddling his voice, but Harry's pretty sure he's only laughing because Harry's laughing.

"Are you kidding? It's hilarious!" Harry continues to laugh, clutching at his sides. He's heard and told the joke enough times, you think it'd get old. Maybe it's because of Louis, and because Louis is so pretty and Harry's body doesn't know how to handle all the emotions he's feeling so he's just letting them out.

Or the joke could just be fucking _genius_. 

"It's honestly concerning how much you're laughing at your own, really _bad_ joke." Louis chuckles. Harry wipes a tear from his eye from laughing so hard.

"My mom's a nurse, maybe we should get you checked out after we make the pie." Louis mutters, which just makes Harry giggle again, then he realizes the weight of what Louis just said. There could be an _after_. 

"Okay, got a question for you." Louis says, and Harry turns to him and raises an eyebrow, a signal to go on. 

"What's your life story?"

Harry's mood immediately plummets, the buzz of happiness and warmth Louis made him feel whooshes away. The November wind is actually quite chilly and the sun isn't as bright as Harry had thought. Louis doesn't seem to notice, still looking as though he expects an answer.

"I thought it was only yes or no questions." Harry says.

"Fine, will you tell me your life story?" Louis amends.

"No." Harry answers, and Louis notices it then, the lackluster, flat tone to Harry's voice.

"Alright." 

Harry is glad Louis doesn't press. He seems like the pressing type, which Harry is okay with, as long as its not about him, or his past. 

They talk as they walk, and the mood lifts again. Louis keeps asking him questions that aren't yes or no, and Harry's taken to just answering them.

"Cats or dogs?" 

"Cats."

"Favorite season?"

"Fall or spring." 

"Tea or coffee?"

"Tea."

"Favorite color?"

And it's not meant to come out, it's really not, the thought was supposed to stay far away, tucked up cozily in a corner of his brain where it was supposed to stay for a while, but, "The color of your eyes."

Louis' questions stop suddenly, and Harry's steps falter, "I mean, like, I always say blue but there's a lot of blues and your eyes just so happen to be the particular blue I like best and-"

Louis goes on his tiptoes and kisses him. Slightly. It's a kiss, but its short and small and quiet and other adjectives that make it seem sweet, something precious to be held dear to heart. Like a sleeping kitten just a week old, that's what the kiss was like.

And Louis just keeps on talking like there was never an interruption. 

They reach a busier road, its actually paved and cars are actually driving on it, and they walk along the sidewalk. 

Louis doesn't run out of things to talk about, and Harry likes that a lot, because he thinks so much sometimes he forgets to talk. Most of his thoughts pertain to Louis.

"So I moved out of my dorm and I'm living at home, driving forty five minutes both ways to get to school because my mom's pregnant with another set of twins and apparently my four sisters and step dad are not enough help around the house. I mean I don't mind home cooking at all, or not doing my own laundry, because that's Lottie's job, but really I don't understand what they need me for." Louis says, laughing and rolling his eyes.

"Maybe they just miss you." _I would miss you. I will miss you._ Because sometime today there's going to be a goodbye. The walk will be over and the pie will be cooked and. There isn't an end to the sentence, it'll just end there, it'll end prematurely. It will end after a few hours, when Harry is pretty sure he could talk to Louis for years, forever, even.

"Huh." Louis says it like it never occurred to him. "Why though?"

"You're missable. From what I know."

And it's like Louis can read his fucking mind. "Would you miss me? Like if I were to leave?"

"Yeah, I'll miss you when you leave." Harry's not sure how he's grown so attached to Louis. He knows its not good. More pain later, if he's honest. He thinks over the events: creepy stalking, blueberry picking and munching, 20 questions cut short by a blow job, walking and conversation and-

"Who says I'm leaving?"

Harry's startled by the question. Confused.

"Well. After the pie and such, you'll go home and-"

"Harry, I fully intend to exchange numbers and maybe some fluids before the day is up."

Harry flushes at Louis' words, and Louis just grins at him, "I don't blow and go."

"Did you just make that up right now?"

"Yes, and I'm pretty damn proud of it thank you very much." Louis says with a grin. 

Harry doesn't say what he was thinking. Doesn't tell Louis of his own tendency to go.

They turn a corner, now in the center of town, and Harry briefly wonders how in the world they're still going in the right direction when he's been paying very little attention to anything other than the way Louis' lips move when he talks or how many times he blinks. 

Louis turns his head to the sound of music, and Harry looks too. There's street performers, one has a guitar and one uses buckets as drums and one has a flute, and they look like they've just found each other, yet somehow they're playing together and people ring around them and watch.

Harry stops and looks for a while, before Louis looks up at him from his side, smiles, and grabs his hand, pulling him into the crowd.

And then they're dancing, and somehow Louis is leading despite being a good 5 inches shorter, and people are cheering them on as they spin goofily and laugh stupidly and maybe kiss a few times, really, Harry's not sure.

Three kisses, one for less than a second, the second for two seconds, and the third for a whole four seconds.

So maybe he was sure, and maybe he was keeping track, and maybe he was calculating that if he kissed louis once a minute for a whole day, how much of his day would be spent not kissing him and what he could do to possibly make that time a bit more bearable.

And he doesn't even care that he just met him this morning and he's kissing him like its a regular thing and it _definitely_ doesn't make his stomach clench and his heart race and his underarms prickle- and he ignores the part of his brain telling him that those aren't the good kinds of feelings, and that he is _definitely_ feeling them, those are the feelings that are itching to run and leave and go go _go_.

But his other part of his brain, whether its more rational or less rational, tells it that by the end of today, Louis will be a fond memory. So it's okay. 

And finally they arrive at Harry's place.

"Well that was a fun walk but I'm knackered, maybe pie making could wait?"

Harry really needs to make that pie, lest he give in to the need to kiss every inch of Louis' golden skin. But. He'll do his best. He walks around the couch and sits next to Louis.

"Nice place you got, bigger than I expected." Code for: are you rich or something?

"Thanks, I have a bit of money, so, yeah, it's a little bigger than necessary for living by myself."

"Really? Where do you work? You're only 19, but who knows maybe you're the worlds youngest CEO." And here's where the past comes in.

"I work in a bakery in town, the one next to the laundromat?" Harry says, waiting for the question to follow and he's not the least bit prepared.

"Oh cool, I've never been in but I hear its good." Louis says, and Harry is confused. He didn't ask. Harry looks up from where he'd been looking at his hands into Louis' face. His blue eyes are clear and sincere and there's no hint of question in them, and Harry's rather sure out of all the oceans he's seen, Louis' tiny oceans are the prettiest. They're honest and there's no secrets in his eyes. Louis is an open book, his eyes a sea you can see all the way down to the bottom, and Harry had no idea how much he needed someone like Louis before he arrived.

And they've known each other for a few hours, but Harry feels like he's known Louis for years, and that if he were to just kiss him right now, it'd be the best decision of his life.

So he does.

It starts of slow, no tongue, hands by their sides, but after a few moments, Louis is pushing himself mercilessly into Harry trying to be as close as he possibly can. Like he wants to extract Harry's secrets and hidden pain and absorb it into his own skin. Of course, Harry is just a romantic and thinks that's what is happening, because the whole point of secrets and hidden pain is that Louis doesn't know about it.

Louis hands are wound in Harry's hair, and when he tugs Harry can't stop the whimpers that rise in his throat. Louis climbs into his lap and starts grinding down on him and Harry's just about to suggest the bedroom, when Louis pulls away with a sly grin and says, "You know, this is a little sketchy. You're not going to dress up as my grandmother and try to eat me, are you?"

Harry gets the reference and laughs a little, "Only if you're into that sort of thing."

Louis laughs, eyes crinkling, and then puts on a doe eyed face and says, "My, what a big mouth you have."

"Better to blow you with, my dear." Harry answers, giggling softly. Louis smiles, more of a small grin really.

"What large hands you have." 

Harry moves his hands so they're on the small of Louis' back, holding him tight, "Better to hold you with, my dear."

"My, what big eyes you have."

The words tumble out before Harry can stop them, "More for you to fall in love with, my dear."

You don't talk of love the first day you meet someone, Harry, how stupid are you?

But now Louis is kissing him again, and kissing him hard, so maybe it's okay. After a minute or five, Louis pulls away, lips red and swollen and eyes legitimately glittering.

"Pie?"

"Pie." Harry agrees.

 

Louis keeps his promise, he puts his number in Harry's phone under the contact name Little Red Riding Hood, and Harry puts his own number into Louis' phone as The Big Bad Wolf because they're stupid and silly like that. And while the pie is in the oven, Harry sits Louis up on the counter and blows him. 

The pie finishes only a little after Louis does, his cheeks still flushed and eyes dilated. He's still sitting on the counter, jeans around his ankles as his chest heaves and _god,_ Harry thinks, _he's so beautiful_. 

Harry pours them both a glass of water, and takes the pie from the oven.

While the pie cools on the counter, Louis asks three more questions.

"If you were to get a tattoo, what would you get?"

Harry just throws his head back and laughs, "Mate, you're a bit late there." He rolls up the sleeve of his jumper, "I've got forty-three."

Louis traces the ink of the shaking hands, "I like this one." He murmurs.

"Me too." 

"Id like to see them all someday."

Harry can only muster a nod. Promises of another day will only make the ones that will inevitably be without him hurt more.

"Next, and we really should go back to yes or no questions." Louis says.

"You're the one asking them, abide by your own rules." Harry jokes.

Louis sticks out his tongue, "Anyway. Do you enjoy long walks on the beach?"

Harry laughs and nods, "Of course, who doesn't?"

"Do you have any siblings?"

"Yeah." Harry says, closing his eyes for a minute and trying to stop the images and name from coming to mind. He thinks Louis gets it, because he doesn't press further. Instead he tells him about each of his four sisters, and then the pie is cool.

And they're not proud of it, but Louis takes it to his mother missing two slices.

 

It's two days later, and Harry's in the shower and he'll never tell but he was jerking off to the thought of Louis, (particularly his fingers pressing into the base of Harry's spine and his mouth hot around him) when his music stops. He peeks his head around the corner to see his phone lit up, a call coming in. He dries his hand on the towel hanging just out of the shower and unplugs the phone from the iPod dock.

The contact name sends a flutter through his whole body, and he answers before the first ring is even up.

His greeting of a simple, "Hello." Is too breathy and shaky and _happy_ sounding. It also lacks the questioning tone taken as principle when answering phone calls, it sounds like more of a _you called, I love you, hi there_ sort of tone. And that scares him.

But Louis' greeting isn't the most orthodox either

"I can't stop thinking about you."

And then

"Are you in the shower?"

Harry lets out a little shaky laugh. _He called_. “Yeah, I am actually. Could I call you back?”

“Of course, don't have too much fun without me.” Harry can picture Louis' smug expression. He gulps, because, well, he was actually.

“Won't.” Harry chokes out.

“Good.” Louis says, “I'll expect your call...?”

“I'm, uh, not sure. Today, soon. Probably.” Harry answers.

“Alright, bye Harry.”

“Bye Louis.”

Harry hangs up and restarts his music, pumping his hand quickly around his cock to delay the thoughts and ponderings to arrive.

But inevitably, after Harry comes, so do the thoughts.

Harry fully expected what had happened to be a one time thing. He shouldn't even have let what happened happen. He's not supposed to, his own rules. So now, Louis' calling him. Does he call back? He shouldn't.

But he wants to.

So standing in his steamy bathroom, waist wrapped in a towel, he calls Louis back. 

 

~~~~ (aka lots of time passes) (specifically 5 months)

 

"Where the fuck are you?" Is Louis' greeting.

"Hello." There's silence. "I'm in Delaware." Harry answers.

"Where the fuck is Delaware and why aren't you here?" Harry thinks he hears Louis' throat tightening, likes he's going to cry.

But, no, because if he thinks about Louis crying, he'll go back and he _can't_ go back.

"It's the second smallest state in the US."

"You're in America?"

"Yeah."

There's a pause, and a sniffle of sorts, and, "Why?"

"Because I fell in love with you."

"So you took a flight to _Delaware?_ " 

"So I took a flight to Delaware." Harry confirms.

The line goes dead.

 

Harry works in a coffee shop. Lots of people marvel at his accent. He serves them coffee and cookies and they leave. He usually never sees them again, which is good, because he can't risk getting attached again.

But he does develop a favorite customer. His name's Niall, he's from Ireland, and he's the most carefree, open person Harry's ever come across. He came in on the second day Harry worked there, it was particularly chilly for April and Harry was wearing a thick sweater and was still cold, then again, Harry's usually cold nowadays. (Missing his personal sunshine.) But Niall was wearing cargo shorts and a t-shirt, he didn't look cold at all.

“Can I help you?” Harry asked when Niall got to the front of the queue.

“You're English!” Niall said in surprise, and Harry was just as taken aback by his Irish accent. 

“Yes I am.” Harry said, a small smile stretching his lips. “And you're Irish.”

“How'd you end up in Delaware, eh? My name's Niall, by the way.”

“Harry. And trust me, you don't want to know.”

“On the run then?”

Harry shrugged and smiled again, “Something like that.” 

Now Niall comes in at least four times a week, orders a coffee and a chocolate chip muffin, and Harry tells him one piece of what brought him here, in no particular order. Of course the stories are all fake. But one day, two months after arriving in Delaware, Harry feels particularly down on himself and like a shit excuse for a human being, so he tells Niall about Louis. Just a little. Like how warm and gold he made the wintertime and how absolutely fucking beautiful he is, going into exquisite detail about his gossamer eyelashes and bone structure that could slice a hand if caressed incorrectly, along with sarcasm and dry humor which could do the same.

And Niall asked him why left, and Harry didn't answer because his boss told him his lunch break was over.

And he never answered because that night he moves to Boston. 

 

Harry spends a whole day in the Boston Museum of Science, watching the numbers go up and down on the count of how many people are in the world. He wonders if he knows any of the ones who died. He wonders if anyone will watch the number go a tick down when he dies.

He watches thousands of people die, and thousands born. The red digital numbers constantly fluctuating. He wonders how the thing senses people dying, or is this delayed to when the government of the country files it. The latter seems more plausible, but Harry could use believing in a little of the implausible, so he goes with the theory that the machine can sense the souls leaving. 

The next day he finds work in a flower shop, and he likes to buy roses for Louis, and then throw them in the harbor and hope they make it across the ocean.

 

He moves to a small tourist town in Maine, once he gets fired after a month for buying too many roses and wasting them all. He did argue that he was paying for them all, really, the shop was probably profiting from this. Who cares what happens to the flowers after they've left the store. Some pervert might shove them up his ass, god knows, really, all he's doing is giving them to his boyfriend. The shop owner gave him a pitying look for that, and it didn't occur to Harry until later that he thought Louis was dead. But he still got fired. Protocol and whatnot, though that didn't really make sense either.

It's the summer now, July 4th, and people keep wishing him a happy Fourth of July and he laughs every time and then tells them he's English. They laugh too and it's nice. Not nearly as nice as Louis' giggle, the menace was too cute for his own good. And Harry lives in a hotel room and goes to the beach every day and looks out across the ocean and wonders if Louis misses him.

He works at an ice cream place, and he gets flirted with too much and he has to bend over too much to look through the order window, but he gets a discount on ice cream. He buys Louis a cone, and then of course has to eat both and regrets it because the portions are huge here.

 

Summer ends and he hears it snows too much in Maine, so he leaves before he can get stuck there. He moves to New York City and decides he's quite sick of jobs and so why not try being unemployed for a while? He can afford it, really. Compensation for uprooting his life- the thought stops there. He brings his guitar out into the crisp September air and finds a place to sit and sings and people give him money even though he's dressed quite nicely. His friend Zayn who sings a few blocks away (really the guy is fucking amazing, but Harry thinks maybe he'd have more money if he stopped spending on tattoos and cigarettes)(not that he's one to judge, up to 46 tattoos himself). 

One day he's playing a song he wrote, usually he sings this and other songs intermittent with covers, and a very important looking man in a suit removes his phone from his ear as he passes. Harry can still hear the person on the other line talking, now shouting for the man to listen to him. The man hangs up and slides his phone in his pocket.

“Don't let me, don't let me, don't let me go. 'Cause I'm tired of feeling alone.” Harry croons, and then reaches the climax of the song, really _really_ trying to not think of Louis because if he does he'll cry, and crying really compromises his voice.

The man in the suit looks thoughtful and Harry tries to focus on the chords and the notes he's supposed to be hitting. He does, thankfully, and the man places something in Harry's fedora he leaves out, and it joins the one dollar bills and coins nestled in it.

The man in the suit walks away and Harry finishes the song. He takes a swig of water and smiles at the small applause he gets from the small crowd around him. His next song choice surprises some people, but Harry thinks the song is beautiful and it really does fit his voice quite well.

“We clawed we chained our hearts in vain, we jumped never asking why. We kissed I fell under your spell a love no one could deny.” The next line is always hard, because he _did_ walk away. That's all he ever does. He runs from happiness because happiness is far to easy to be ruined. At least sadness and loneliness are consistent, never ending voids of grey.

He looks in the hat at the end of the day to see what the man in the suit put in, because it wasn't money. _I swear to god if another person put gum in my hat..._ he thinks to himself, but he pulls out a small, white rectangle. A business card. A music producer gives him his business card. That night, hanging around the streets with two of his temporary friends, Zayn and Ed (Ed is also a street performer, his voice is like a leatherbound book of poetry on a fall day drizzled in melted chocolate, if Harry's honest), he rolls the card into a joint and smokes it. He nearly has an asthma attack, and wonders if he'd died if Louis would ever know.

What if Louis died and he'd never known?

The thought terrifies him and he's high and he's drunk and he's about to cry, maybe he's already crying, and he buys a plane ticket from his phone to leave the next morning.

He tells Zayn and Ed goodbye, a word he usually avoids at all costs. Ed doesn't notice the difference, drunk and high, and well so s Zayn but Zayn is a very observant person and he hugs Harry before he walks away, whispers in his ear something Harry doesn't remember now, but that something made him tear up. Something to the effect of “It's never too late.” He often wonders how Zayn knew, but that was the point of Zayn, mystery and leather jackets.

 

Somehow he was lucky enough to get a window seat, which is good so he can sleep and nurse his hangover. That and aisle seats make him sick, and middle seats are too claustrophobic. Then two children are sitting next to him, a little girl who looks about three and a boy who looks about seven. The girl is crying and the mom looks angry.

"Excuse me, sir, something went wrong with our tickets, and the airline won't let us fix it. Me and my children have different seats, could you please look after them? I'll be down as often as I can of course."

"Yeah, sure, of course." Harry says, hoping his headache meds kick in soon.

He ends up learning how to play Pokemon while the little girl sleeps in his lap. Their mom comes down to check on them every so often and she smiles at him. Braiden has fallen asleep on Harry's shoulder, his feet tucked up into the seat. Rachel is curled up (she really is tiny) into his lap with her head on his stomach. 

Harry ends up falling asleep too, trying not to think of Lux and how she used to call him uncle Harry before he left, and wonders if she even remembers him now.

He wakes up to shuffling, and then plane has landed, and Marcia, the kids' mom, is gently tapping his shoulder to wake him. Braiden is rubbing his eyes and yawning, and Rachel is munching on some gold fish.

"We just landed." She tells him, and her voice sounds warped and fuzzy, and he realizes his ears popped. 

"Bye Harry!" Rachel says, throwing her arms around his legs once he stands. He hugs her back, and then hugs Braiden and thanks him for teaching him how to play Pokemon, and that he should learn how to play the classic game.

And then they're gone.

Which is good.

Sorta.

Harry gets his bag from the over head storage and wheels it off the plane. He leaves the airport, and tries not to bristle at the familiarity in the smell of the air. He's never been to the same place twice. 

He doesn't know why he bought this particular plane ticket, out of all the plane tickets he possibly could have purchased. Well, actually, he does.

 

One of Harry's favorite things to think about is Louis' face the first time he saw the butterfly tattoo. Also, incidentally, the first time they went all the way. It was two weeks and two days since they'd met, and they considered each other boyfriends so. That was pretty cool. Very cool. 

But anyway, tattoo reaction.

It was some ridiculous time, like, 4 AM but Louis had fallen asleep on Harry's shoulder while watching a movie and Harry wanted to sleep in a bed, not sitting up, thank you very much. So he scooped the smaller boy up and carried him to his room. Somewhere on the journey Louis came to, because Harry felt lackadaisical lips on his neck, and a sleepy tongue on his collar bones. He lied Louis down on the bed, and Louis' fingers found the hem of his sweater and lifted. Harry briefly wondered how they'd never been shirtless together before, but, it had only been two weeks after all, and it was nearly December.

But Louis started laughing when he saw it.

"What?" Harry asked, pulling away and covering it when he realizes, "Oh, I know, I kinda want it removed, but I'm worried it'll scar."

"No! Haz, I wasn't laughing at it, it's just, I didn't really expect it and it took me off guard, but its just so you."

Harry slowly removed his hands, now a little self conscious.

Louis looked up at him, from his horizontal position on the bed, his _**blueblueblue**_ eyes shimmering up at Harry in the minimal light. He reached up, fingers clasping at the nape of Harry's neck and brought his mouth to his throat. Louis trailed kisses down his neck, pausing where his lips and tongue felt his pulse under the thin, hot skin, and then continued down his chest, raising goosebumps wherever he went. Louis' tongue played about the ink on Harry's upper stomach. His tummy shuddered at the tickling touch. Louis continued to mouth at it, leaving a bruise on the lower corner of the right wing. Louis shifted them, turning Harry so he was the one lying on the bed, feet touching the floor, and Louis stood between his legs, then knelt down.

His mouth trailed lower and he hooked his fingers into Harry's sweatpants and boxers, pulling them down together. Harry took a shaky breath as Louis tongued the soft, milky skin of his inner thigh. Louis' mouth trailed higher.

“Lou- Lou- can we...?” Harry trailed off but Louis' eyes lit up in understanding. 

“Do you have everything?” Louis asked and Harry blushed, crawling away from Louis to his bedside table. He opened the drawer and took out a bottle of lube and a condom. Louis got on the bed after him, and captured Harry's soft lips with his own. Harry's fingers shook as he unzipped Louis' hoodie and helped it off his shoulders. Louis was fully clothed and Harry was completely naked, he felt a little self conscious. Louis must have sensed this, that or he wanted his clothes off just as much as Harry did, because he pulled away for a moment to take off his t shirt, jeans and boxers. Quite unceremoniously, and he might have to work at getting his feet out of his ankle holes, but Harry found it quite endearing. Harry kissed Louis once he'd undressed, besotted with Louis' lips and body and wanting to feel every inch of his golden skin. 

They lied back as they kissed, Louis' tongue sweeping into Harry's mouth. Louis ground his hips down into Harry's groin, creating some much needed friction. Harry groaned to Louis' tongue and Louis swallowed his sounds, continuing to circle his hips down onto Harry.

He sat up then, found the bottle of lube Harry'd left on the bed, and drizzled it onto one finger. Harry nearly whimpered in anticipation, it'd been a long time. Louis leaned down to kiss him again and Harry arched up against him, probably too eager. Louis smiled against his lips and his hand found Harry's bum. His finger circled around Harry's rim and his hips pressed down, trying to get more solid contact. Louis pressed his finger in and after the initial beat of slight discomfort, he moaned in relief. Louis pumped his finger slowly, Harry grinding his arse down to meet him.

Harry was painfully hard, leaking precome onto his stomach when Louis added a second finger, opening him up more. He pushed in to the second knuckle and Harry's eyelids fluttered shut. Louis scissored his fingers, stretching Harry enough.

“Please, Louis, I'm ready please just fuck me please.” Harry begged, hips bucking involuntarily and fingers twisted in the sheets. Louis placed a soft kiss to the hollow below Harry's ear, suckling slightly as he removed his fingers. Harry felt empty and he searched with a blind hand for the condom to speed things up.

Louis was still sucking on his neck when he found it and tore it open frantically. Louis sat up and Harry rolled the condom on for him. Louis lubed himself up, before adjusting Harry's gangly legs to nestle at his hole.

Harry gave him a nod to go on, inside he was practically begging for Louis to just do it already. He gasped at the feeling.

“So tight babe.” Louis gasped, stilling to give Harry a chance to adjust. Harry could only whimper in response. Louis leaned down and kissed him again, and Harry's fingers gripped into the skin of Louis' back, pulling him closer.

“Feels so good.” Harry murmured, meeting Louis' thrusts. Louis groaned into his mouth, and then Harry felt him reach between them. His hand wrapped around Harry's cock and Harry's hips bucked up. The position of his arm caused Louis to change his angle, and Harry cried out loudly when the tip of his cock found his prostate.

He called out Louis' name when he did it again, writhing beneath him.

“Gonna come?” Louis asked, voice shaking. Harry nodded, body rolling as Louis flicked his wrist quickly, bringing Harry closer and closer to the edge. And with a final nudge of the spot that made him see stars, Harry shouted an expletive followed by Louis' name as he came between them, making a mess on Louis' and his own chest. 

Louis kept up his movements, riding out the high, but stopped as Harry came down. Harry was panting hard, and Louis' mouth found his, kissing for a moment.

“Keep going.” Harry said, and Louis groaned in relief, resuming his thrusts. Harry was impossibly sensitive, whines rising in his throat. He watched Louis above him, blue eyes hooded and mouth parted, taking in as much air as he could.

“So beautiful, Lou, you're so beautiful.” Harry murmured, reaching up and moving Louis' sweaty hair from his face. With that Louis came into the condom, a shout of Harry's name falling from his lips and then repeating in little gasps as he shook. 

That was the first night he stayed over, and Harry wrapped him in his many, too-long limbs and they slept just like that. 

 

Somehow, in five months of a committed relationship, Harry avoided all talk of his past. Louis didn't know anything, and it was two nights before Harry left that he finally got fed up with all of Harry's evasiveness. 

“So why haven't I met _your_ family yet?” Louis asked.

“They're pretty far away, Lou.”

“So? We love car rides, you could further educate my music taste. You told me the other day you need to show me The 1975.”

“We can't just drive to see my family.” Harry replied.

“What, do they live Australia or something?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Haz, we've been together five months. Why do I feel like I don't know anything about you but you know everything about me?” Louis asked, looking hurt from where he sat at the counter. Harry stopped stirring the pasta and turned to face him.

“Lou, you know everything about me. You know my favorite color, what movies make me cry like a little girl, what songs give me the shivers, my weird obsession with Say Yes to the Dress, you know my preferred brand of shampoo and what I wash in the shower first. That's all _me_. My family has nothing to do with me.” His voice had started off calm, if not dejected, but ended toward more the shouty part of the voice spectrum.

Louis dropped the subject, eyes wide and asked when the pasta would be ready. Harry told him in about a minute, and then his phone buzzed with his “Stupid joke of the day” app notification, and everything was back to normal.

Except it wasn't.

Because while Harry'd been schpieling on, he realized something. He realized he'd been here for _six months_. He realized Louis _knew_ him. He realized he knew what every light switch in his house did and where every outlet was and that he had a _towel closet_. 

The next night he kissed Louis until neither of them could breathe and clothes were strewn about the house, and he held him tight and kissed his neck and shoulders as his breathing evened out, but he didn't sleep. 

2 AM rolled around, Harry grabbed his guitar and a duffel bag full of clothes and other necessities and he got a taxi to the airport. No note, nothing. 

 

He doesn't want to think about Louis waking up the next morning, and searching for him everywhere. That's not something he wants to wonder about, he doesn't want to know if Louis cried or called their friends. Doesn't want to know if Louis waited for him and for how long before he gave up.

Seven months is a rather long time.

But here he is, contemplating all of this while eating some wild blueberries where it all started. He may or may not be crying (he is) and he sniffles as he chews. He's sitting on his duffel bag. Why is he back here? He's not supposed to return, ever. That's what he _does_ , he runs from his past, he makes a past and runs from it every time. All because of that _stupid_ first past. 

He finds himself blindly walking, finds himself walking up his driveway, finds himself knocking on the door.

It opens, and before Louis can even register who it is.

“They're dead, Lou.” He wails, dropping his bags and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I fucking killed them. There was a stupid drunk driver and I could have avoided him but I didn't see him in time and my mom and my dad and Gemma they're _dead_ I _killed_ them and I tried never to get attached to anything again because something's going to rip happiness away from me so I run whenever I start getting happy. I let it go on too long with you, Lou. I wasn't even supposed to call you back but I did and then we moved in together, not officially but you spent more time here than anywhere else and I knew it was too much, that I should have left long before that but-” He takes a deep shuddering breath, eyes bleary as he looks at Louis' shocked expression. His lips are parted slightly and eyes wide.

Then someone comes up behind him, poking his head around the door, “Lou, who's this?”

“Louis. Who's that?” Harry asks. He feels like he's been punched. “Why are you living in my house with another boy?” His voice is flat.

“Oh, no, I'm not- I'm Liam. I'm guessing you're Harry.” The man, Liam, says.

“Yeah. I am. Why are you in my house.”

“Mate, you've been gone for seven months, someone had to-”

“Li, could you give us a moment please?” Louis asks. His voice is breathy and his throat sounds choked. Liam nods and retreats. Louis steps outside and closes the door behind him. There's silence for a moment, just Harry sniffling and trying to stop crying. It's not working.

“They're dead they're dead they're dead.” He repeats over and over again, a fresh wave of tears making it's way onto his cheeks. And then he feels Louis' arms around him and he whispers, “I'm going to be mad at you later, alright? Why don't you come inside.”

Harry nods, shoulders shaking as he cries. He'd never said the words before. Hasn't said Gemma's name since before she died. 

Louis takes him into the bedroom, his bedroom, sort of. It's almost exactly as he left it, his side any way. Bottle of lube still on the dresser, clothes discarded on the floor. He lies down on his side, and Louis lies down with him. He strokes the pads of his thumb across Harry's cheeks, wiping away the tears there. Harry shakes his head violently, pressing his face into his pillow. He tries to stop the images. He'd just gotten his license two weeks prior so his mom let him drive. He remembers the screaming, and the sound Gemma's neck made when it broke, and he remembers how he came out of it all with some cuts and bruises and a concussion, but his family had all died nearly instantly. A police officer told him that someone was looking out for him, and Harry thought that was completely wrong. If someone was looking out for him they wouldn't have let the crash happen. 

“I love you.” Harry says, voice catching. “It's been seven months and I thought I could stop loving you, I thought it would fade but it never did. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

“Go to sleep, Haz.” Louis said, moving closer and kissing the tip of Harry's nose. He let his eyelids droop, but first found Louis' fingers and twined them with his own. After a few minutes he was out, jetlag and sadness taking over him. 

 

When he woke up, Louis was still looking at him. The light in the room had a blue hue to it, suggesting it was just past sunset, before it was completely dark. 

“Did you know today is the anniversary of the day we met?” Louis says as he watches Harry's eyes focus. His voice is calm, but Harry thinks it sounds like the ocean before a storm.

“I think I might've.”

“Did you know today is the anniversary of the day I fell in love with you?” Louis asks again. He looks impossibly sad.

Harry breathes slowly, hearing a 'but', “And when did you fall out?

Louis looks confused for a moment, “Harry, never. I never fell out.” He kisses him then, slow and tender, and when he pulls away he asks, “Why would you think that?”

“Because everyone leaves me.” Harry says, and that seems to do it. Louis sits up then, hair fluffing about his head (Harry has to try very hard not to find it endearing, as he senses he's about to get screamed at and fawning whilst being screamed at isn't proper etiquette.) 

“No, Harry, that's not fucking true. _You_ left _me_. I _waited_. I woke up that day and I looked all around the house for a note, telling me we ran out of pancakes or that fucking cucumber melon hand soap you loved and you ran to the grocery store. And when I didn't I sat and I _waited_ and the whole _fucking_ time I had this feeling in my stomach that that day was going to suck. And it did, and everyday after that. And today fucking sucks too, you know! I was perfectly content with crying my eyes out into Liam's shirt and liking the way he touched me even though I'd have been crying over _you_. Fucking _you,_ Harry. Fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you!” Louis is screaming, his face is red, and at some point he'd stood up and now he's kicking the bed. 

“I didn't even think to go look to see if your car was in the the garage until like two hours later, and I looked up and I saw a tiny little plane heading west and I just _knew_. I _knew_ you were on it and I knew you were leaving me but what I didn't know was _why_.” He pauses for a moments, hands clawing at his face as he tries to get his emotions in check. They're not. Neither are Harry's. He's pretty sure he's crying. God. Oh god. He made his sun so overcast. 

And then Louis is weeping. Louis is actually weeping. This is what weeping looks like: soft little kitten cries like there's no tears left, the emotion so big yet so dried up it couldn't possibly come out, heels of palms jammed into eye sockets, soft brown hair floating about reddened ears, knees and elbows folded into tummy. Harry realizes he's read weeping plenty of times, but it's far more heartbreaking than he thought.

He watches Louis for a moment, realizes how grey and blue and lavender he's become. The whole room is bathed in the colors, and it accentuates it more. Harry crawls toward Louis, where he's practically catloafing on the corner of the bed. 

“Why did you leave me?” Louis whimpers between hiccups and choking sounds that are too weak and tired to be sobs. 

And all of a sudden Harry realizes. 

He has the same affect on people that they have on him. Tom and Lou and Lux- they might have been as heartbroken as Louis is. _Lux_ , oh god _Lux_. Did she cry?

And Niall, when he came in and Freddie told him that he up and went in the middle of the night. What did he do? 

And Zayn, well, Zayn knew, but what about Ed when he realized he didn't get to say goodbye?

And so Harry kisses Louis' tears away until they stop coming. And he kisses his neck and peppers them on his shoulders and spine and circles them around his knees. He whispers “I will never leave you again” into every inch of Louis' skin. 

And Louis falls asleep wrapped up in Harry's too-many limbs and Harry just watches him. And he knows he's not okay, and he might never be okay, but for Louis' he'll try.

 

~~~~ (aka a lot of time passes) (specifically 2 and a half years)

 

It took a lot of time for Louis build up trust in Harry again, a lot of time for him to be Harry's own personal little sunshine again. Whenever he'd wake up and Harry wasn't there, he'd almost immediately start crying and panicking, only to find him in the kitchen making pancakes. Harry would see how distraught he would look and hold him and kiss him and promise he'd never leave again over and over again.

Harry told him about all the people he met, and what he did. Louis thinks the fact that Harry bought him dozens or red roses a day and threw them in the ocean for him is probably the most romantic thing he's ever heard. 

Louis told him that Liam's just a friend, and interested friend, but Louis couldn't be with anyone other than Harry. Liam stayed over because Louis couldn't bear to be alone on their would-be anniversary. 

And one night they're in bed, heart beats slowing back to normal, and Louis says, “You know, I never did ask my twentieth question.”

“Hm?” Harry hums, encouraging him to go on. Louis pauses for a moment.

“Will you marry me?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to imagine that Harry somehow contacts Zayn and ed and has them be the entertainment for the wedding. Also Niall eats too much cake. And Liam pines for Louis from afar.  
> Alright.  
> That was my fic, and whatever I end up deciding on for a title it doesn't matter becuase this will always be The Blueberry fic to me.  
> comments and kudos and bookmarks make me really happy alright like really happy.  
> please tell me if there's anything I could improve upon in my writing. I love you!


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